TWO WEEKS TO FOREVER

CHAPTER THREE: The devil's office

McCoy Group headquarters looked like it was designed to intimidate. Magnificent is an understatement.

Sixty stories of steel and glass, reflecting the sky like it owned it. The lobby is all marble and every surface polished to perfection. Even the security guards looked expensive.

I've never felt more out of place in my entire freaking life.

Sandra led me to a private elevator, the kind that requires a key card. We stepped inside and she swiped us up to the sixtieth floor.

"Nervous?" she asked.

"Terrified," I admitted.

"Good. That means you're paying attention." She glanced at me. "You still have time to back out, though."

I thought about Priscilla's inhaler. About the way my sister struggles with breathing. Her permanent treatment.

"I'm not backing out." I said with finality in my voice.

The elevator doors opened directly into an office that's more window than a room. Three sides of the office were all glass, from the floor to the ceiling, giving a view of the city that made me dizzy. The furniture is minimalist, screaming money and, to me, chosen for intimidation rather than comfort.

And behind a massive desk, backlit by the afternoon sun so I could barely make out his features, sat Nicholas McCoy.

He didn't look up.

Sandra cleared her throat. "Nicholas. I brought…"

"You're late." His voice was cold and precise. "I told you 2:00. It's 2:03."

I glanced at Sandra, who looked unbothered by this insanity.

"This is Zara Simon," Sandra continued. "She's interviewing for my position."

Nicholas finally looked up.

And I simply forgot how to breathe.

He's younger than I expected, maybe thirty, he was handsome and cute at the same time. Dark hair, perfect features like he was literally sculpted, his eyes were gray and calculating and looking at me like I'm a problem to be solved. Or eliminated.

"No," he said flatly. "She's not."

Just like that. No. As if I'm not even standing there.

"Nicholas…" Sandra started.

"Look at her," he interrupted, standing up from his desk. Then, I realised how tall he actually is. Over six feet of well built body fitting perfectly in an expensive suit that probably costs more than I've made in my entire lifetime. "No experience. No references. She just walked in from the street."

"You don't know that," I said quietly.

His eyes bored into me like a halogen lamp, and I had to resist every urge to step back. He had the kind of stare that could literally cut through your bone marrow.

"Do you have experience as an executive secretary?" he asked, with a sharp tone like he already knew he'd won.

"No."

"References from previous employers?"

"No."

"College degree?"

"High school diploma."

"Then I do know what I'm talking about." He turned back to Sandra, dismissing me entirely. "This is a waste of my time."

"Just interview her, give her a chance at least." Sandra pressed.

His jaw tightened. I thought he would refuse. Then he pointed to the chair across from his desk like he was granting me a presidential favor.

"Five minutes," he said coldly. “I have a conference call with Tokyo thereafter."

I quickly sat down, feeling like my legs would give away at any minute.

Nicholas settled back into his chair with authority radiating from him. "Why do you want this job?" He asked.

"I need the money."

One eyebrow lifted slightly. "Everyone needs money, Miss Simon. Why should I hire you specifically when you have absolutely no qualifications for this position?"

I could’ve lied. I could've given him answers he would've liked to hear, you know, about being a fast learner or having excellent organizational skills, team spirit and all that. But something about him being so brutal made me want to match up the energy he was giving.

And I told him point-blank, "You shouldn't hire me. On paper, I am…. Completely unqualified. I have no experience in corporate environments. I don't know the first thing about being an executive secretary."

"Then why are you wasting my time?"

"Because I don't have time to waste on pride." The words came out sharper than I intended. "My fifteen-year-old sister is sick. She has chronic asthma with lung scarring from years of inadequate treatment. She needs surgery that costs three hundred thousand dollars, and even with insurance, which we don't have, we could never afford it. I have applied to thirty-nine jobs in two days. Thirty-nine rejections. And then Sandra told me this position pays $120,000 a year."

I looked into his cold gray eyes directly, like I was headed for his soul.

"That's not just money to me, Mr. McCoy. That's my sister's life. That's the difference between her breathing freely or struggling for every breath for the rest of her life. So no, I don't have experience. But I am desperate enough to work harder than anyone you've ever hired. I am desperate enough to learn faster, stay longer, and take whatever impossible standards you throw at me without quitting."

Silence filled the enormous office.

"You said thirty-nine rejections in two days?” He said finally. "Most people would have given up."

"Most people aren't responsible for keeping a child alive." I replied.

"She's your sister, not your child."

"I've been raising her since I was ten years old. She's both, to me."

Another long silence. Nicholas stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands in his pockets, staring out at the city spread beneath us like a kingdom.

"Look, I change secretaries the way people change clothes," he said, with his back to me. "Do you know why?"

"Sandra said you're difficult to work for."

"I'm impossible to work for." He turned to face me, and for just a moment, I saw something raw in his expression. "I expect perfection. I work eighteen-hour days, sometimes more. I will call you at 3a.m if I need something. I will give you tasks that seem impossible. And I will not apologize for any of it."

"I'm not asking you to apologize, sir. I'm asking you to pay me."

His eyes grew wild, the sides of his mouth twitched a little.

"Most people who sit in that chair try to impress me," he said. "They lie about their qualifications or make promises they can't keep. You're the first person who's been honest about having absolutely nothing to offer except desperation."

He walked back to his desk, and I noticed a small photo frame positioned where only he could see it. A little girl with dark curls and a bright smile. "Desperation makes people either dangerous or useless. The question is which one you are."

"I guess you'll find out in two weeks."

He looked at me sharply. "Excuse me?"

“That's what you're offering, isn't it? A trial period. You’ll throw everything at me, see if I break. If I survive, I will get the job. If not, you've lost nothing."

Nicholas sat down slowly, studying me with new intensity.

"You're perceptive."

"Well, when you grow up watching people for signs that they're about to explode, you learn to read situations quickly and ahead."

Something flickered across his face. "Your mother?"

I didn't answer, but my silence spoke volume.

"Two weeks," he said finally. " If you make it through that, the position is yours at $120,000 annually. Benefits kick in immediately, including health insurance that will cover your sister. Hours are 7 AM to whenever I dismiss you, which is rarely before 8 PM. Weekends when necessary, which is often."

My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear him anymore.

Health insurance. Immediately.

That alone would change everything.

"Do we have an agreement, Miss Simon?"

"Yes…..Yes,thank you." Barely a whisper.

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't survived me." He pressed a button on his phone. "Sandra, come back in."

The door opened immediately.

"She starts on Monday. 7a.m sharp. Handle the paperwork."

"You're hiring her?" Sandra couldn't hide her surprise.

"For two weeks. We'll see if she's still standing after that." He looked at me again. "Don't be late, Miss Simon. I fire people for being late."

"I won't be late."

"Good. Now leave. I am busy."

Sandra practically pulled me out of the office. The moment the elevator doors closed, she grabbed my shoulders.

"Oh my God, what did you say to him? He never hires anyone on the spot."

"I just told him the truth and he didn't hate it, I guess."

"Wow, congratulations. You just got the impossible job. Welcome to hell, Zara. But at least it's a well-paid hell."

We both laughed. As we walked to her office for paperwork, she studied me. "So where are you staying? You said you came from the outskirts."

“Honestly, I didn't think that far. I was just keen on getting a job ”

Sandra studied me quietly for a moment, then sighed.

“You’re something else, Zara.” She hesitated. “Listen, I’ve got a spare room at my apartment. I’m moving out in two weeks anyway. You can stay until your first paycheck. No rent.”

I blinked, not sure I heard right. “Sandra, you don’t even know me.”

“Exactly, so let’s keep it that way.” She smiled. “Just don't make me regret being nice.